


You Looooove Each Other

by tonystarkssnipples



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, Peter is Tony's Biological Son, Young Peter, awkward marriage proposals, birthday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 04:41:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1731527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tonystarkssnipples/pseuds/tonystarkssnipples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony Stark swore he would never celebrate his birthday again. What did it matter now, anyway? When he was younger and was passing milestones—sixteen, eighteen, twenty-one, twenty-five—it was fun to celebrate. Now the passing years were just markers of how he was one year closer to death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Looooove Each Other

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this for tony's birthday (may 29th) but i'm a wee bit late.  
> oops.

After the disaster that was his fortieth birthday party, Tony Stark swore he would never celebrate his birthday again. What did it matter now, anyway? When he was younger and was passing milestones—sixteen, eighteen, twenty-one, twenty-five—it was fun to celebrate. Now the passing years were just markers of how he was one year closer to death.

It worked. He passed through forty-one, forty-two, and forty-three with only mild hangovers on May 30th, but not nearly as much damage or emotional strife as the rest. Forty-four, however, was a different story.

“He’s _what?_ ” Tony shouted. The child in front of him looked up with doe eyes.

“His name is Peter Parker. He’s your son.” Tony’s mouth went dry. He knew he shouldn’t have answered the door.

“Doesn’t he have a mother?” Tony pleaded. This couldn’t be right. The child looked to be about six or seven, kind of on the small side, and was practically the spitting image of himself. At the word _mother_ , Peter began squirming in his seat, wringing the yellow blanket in his hands.

“She passed away.”

“Where’s the proof that he’s mine? Why wouldn’t she have told me I had a son before she died? Am I just supposed to keep him?” With each question, Tony’s voice grew louder and more frantic.

“You were listed as the father on his birth certificate. We plan to run a paternity test—”

“What for?” Tony quipped. “He looks just like I did when I was his age.” _Fuck_. What as he going to tell Steve? Between them, there was a lot of a baggage, but would this be the tipping point? An illegitimate son who, if Steve and Tony did end up staying together, would be Steve’s by association? “So, what? I keep him now?”

“We can send him to foster care if—”

“Give me the fucking papers to sign before I change my mind.”

* * *

Tony opened a jar of peanut butter and put it in on the counter in front of Peter, who was sitting on a stool but was barely big enough to rest his elbows on the table. He got up on his knees to better reach the jar. “Can I have some?” he asked shyly.

“That’s why I put it there.”

“With my hands?”

“Uh… yes?”

“Mommy always told me to wash my hands before I eat.”

“Well then how about you wash your hands.”

Peter nodded, got down from his stool, and walked out of the kitchen. When he didn’t come back after three minutes, Tony started to panic. How could he have fucked up this quickly? “Peter!” he shouted, jogging out of the kitchen. He didn’t have to search far. Peter was slumped against the wall. “Peter?” Tony kneeled down beside him. “What’s wrong?”

“I got lost.”

“Why didn’t you come back and ask for help?”

“Dunno.”

Tony knew why. Peter was embarrassed. Tony tried to put himself in Peter’s shoes. The child had just lost his mother, given to the care of a man he had never met, placed in a home probably five times the size of the one he grew up in, and set free to wander around. “I’m sorry, bud. How about we take a tour?”

Peter just nodded meekly.

After the tour, they ended up back in the kitchen. Tony had left the peanut butter out and, even though it had been forgotten during their adventure, Peter still wanted it. Tony hoisted him up so he could wash his hands in the sink before putting him on the stool. The two dipped their fingers in the peanut butter and started making idle small talk.

“So Pete, how old are you?”

“Seven.”

“Okay. Your turn to ask a question.”

“Do you have a girlfriend or a wife? ‘Cause I don’t want a new mommy. I like the one I had.”

Tony gave a weak smile. “No, I don’t have a girlfriend or wife.” Tony took a deep sigh. It’s not like Peter wasn’t going to notice Steve. “I do have a boyfriend, though.”

Peter thought about that for a moment. “Okay, cool. Can I go again?”

“Sure,” Tony smiled.

“What’s his name?”

“Steve.”

“How old is he?”

“Twenty-five.”

Peter narrowed his eyes. “Seems a little young for you.”

Tony gaped. “Just how old do you think I am?”

“At least one hundred.”

“Haha, you’re so funny,” Tony responded. “Okay, enough with the third degree about my boyfriend. My turn to ask you some questions.”

“Okay,” Peter shrugged, obviously not caring who was asking the questions. Tony realized that Peter seemed much more relaxed now, which made him happy. He was stunned to realize that he was relaxed as well. Being with Peter seemed natural.

Now that he had the floor to ask the questions, he couldn’t think of anything he wanted to know. “Uh… what’s your favorite animal?”

“Spiders.”

Tony fought the chill that ran down his spine. That ruled out pets. “Those are bugs.”

“Arachnids, actually,” came a third voice. Tony and Peter turned to the door to see Steve come in. Tony grimaced; he wasn’t ready for the two to meet. “Good evening, sweetheart,” he greeted, pecking Tony on the lips. Peter giggled.

“What?” Tony asked.

“He gave you a smooch on the lips. You _looooove_ each other.” Peter giggled again.

“Who are you?” Steve asked, crouching down to Peter’s level. He was using his meet-and-greet-the-kids voice. Tony smiled.

“Mr. Stark, what should I call you?”

Both Steve and Tony were taken aback at the response, which wasn’t a response to the question at all. Tony mulled it over for a bit. “You can call me dad, if you’d like.”

Peter nodded. “Okay. I’m dad’s son.”

Steve’s eyes were the size of saucers. He turned to Tony, who was currently willing himself to shrink to the size of an ant so he could escape. He wondered if ants had a familial chain, of if it was just the workers and the queen.

Steve seemed to recover quickly, skipping over the awkward _I didn’t know you had a son_ conversation. Instead, he picked Peter off of his stool, placing him on the counter. Steve sat in the chair Peter had been occupying, making them the same height. Tony stood to the side, watching the interaction with fervent interest.

“Do you know what today is?” Steve asked. Peter shook his head violently, a smile on his face. “Today is your dad’s birthday.”

“No it’s not. Nope. End of story. It is _not_ my birthday. We talked about this, Steve.”

“He’s in denial. He think’s he’s getting old,” Steve explained.

“Peter told me I looked at least one hundred! Of course I look like I’m getting old! Jesus Christ.”

Peter giggled and kicked his legs. Steve turned to Tony, a smile on his face. “You’re overreacting. I’m sure Peter was just joking, wasn’t he?”

Peter forced the smile from his face. “Yes.”

“Now, if you don’t mind, Tony, I think I’m going to borrow your son for a bit.”

“I do mind. How do I know you’re not going to tell him all the horrible things I do.”

“I’ll focus on the good. It’s a much longer list and he’ll get to know you much better. Now go, shoo, Pete and I have things to plan.”

Tony furrowed his brow and slumped out of the room. “I’ll be in the workshop.”

He went down to the workshop, but he didn’t work. He’d pick up a project, look at it for a few minutes, realize he wasn’t doing anything with it, and try to move on. The circle went on. After an hour or so of that, he gave up and flopped on the couch. He started playing with a slinky that was on the table. He wasn’t sure why or how it had gotten there, but in that moment, he was glad it had, because it gave him something to do. He as hypnotized temporarily as he passed the slinky back and forth between his hands, but quickly lost interest, electing to throw it across the room.

What the hell was he supposed to do with a son? He was trying to do right by Steve, and now he had another person to take care of. He could try his hardest, but there was a nagging thought in the back of his mind; what if he turned out like his father. He could try his best not to, but what if…

“Dad?” Peter squeaked, knocking on the glass.

“Let him in, J.” The door swung open and Peter stared at it in amazement before taking a few cautious steps into the workshop. “What is it?” Tony asked.

“Um… Mr. Steve is upstairs and wants to talk to you.” Peter tried to walk further into the room, but tripped over his pant leg. The first thing Tony was going to do tomorrow was take Peter out shopping. Clothes, toys, bedding… a bed… oh god, he had his work cut out for him.

“Are you going to join us?”

“Nope. Steve called the nice lady with the red hair to take care of me tonight.”

“Pepper?”

“No, um… it starts with an N.”

Tony rolled his eyes and ran up the stairs, listening as Peter ran after him. “Natasha, do you know anything about children?”

“Stark, I can handle a seven year old for the evening. Steve’s been planning this for awhile.”

Tony groaned. Steve made birthday plans? If this was some surprise party where people Tony had met once were going to jump out from behind furniture, Tony would kill him. If it was a romantic dinner for two, Tony would kill him. Later.

It was the latter, a candlelit dinner, with home cooked food and expensive wine. It wasn’t really his style, and it definitely wasn’t Steve’s style, but he didn’t comment. Surprisingly, it was Steve who brought it up.

“Okay, so I know that this isn’t really our thing, but, um…”

“Um?” Tony prompted.

“Yeah, um… I just kind of wanted to do something different because it’s been two years and, you know…”

“I can honestly say I don’t.” Tony poured more wine into his glass, but didn’t drink it. He arched one eyebrow at Steve, who was sweating and making strange faces. Tony was starting to worry that Steve was having a stroke. “Honey?”

“Did he ask you to marry him yet?” Peter shouted, running into the room, Natasha chasing after him. Steve glared at Natasha because he couldn’t blame the child.

“You were trying to…” Tony asked, trailing off. It made sense. The random dinner, the awkward stuttering. Jesus.

Steve groaned and slid the ring box to Tony. “Yeah, and I kind of blew it. Sorry.”

“No, no. It’s fine,” Tony said, staring at the box. “Um… do you wanna, you know, ask? Instead of just throwing the box at me?”

Steve rolled his eyes and picked it up, muttering something about how his plans never worked out, so why did he even try. “Tony Stark, will you marry me?”

Tony gave an exasperated sigh. “I guess, if you really want me to,” he joked.

“I do.”

“Practicing already?” Tony quipped, but Steve kissed the smirk from his face.

“I knew it. You _looooove_ each other,” Peter giggled from the corner.


End file.
